in decay
by anonymne
Summary: Introspective piece. Sephiroth reflects on himself, not on events, and talks of his psychological decline, and the build to his fate. Rated for language, and for the theme of the piece.


**Author's Note**: First of all, I understand completely that this story is in style which is difficult to grasp at a first glance. No, **this story is not meant to be grammatically correct**; I have consciously chosen to ignore capitalization rules, as well as sentence-length rules, comma-usage rules, and a number of other conventions. I haven't used interrogation marks anywhere.

You may demand a reason from me, a perfectly literate and well-articulated writer, as to why I've chosen this style. For the most part, it should be clear by the end of the story: the character speaking is decaying from the inside out. Streams of consciousness may be the only thing he's capable of getting out. Also, I'm interested in stylistic changes and differentiations from the English norm. All of the choices I have made in writing this story have been **conscious ones**.

That disclaimer having been made, let's continue. This piece is told by Sephiroth of Final Fantasy VII, and is intended to be read as though the game (which is not mine) is nearing its completion, but it is chronologically sparse – that is to say, Sephiroth is talking about himself, not about what he is doing or has done necessarily.

You may not like my interpretation of him; that's fine. Let me know if you think I've done something wrong, and I'll take it into account, maybe make some changes. I'm going for something very experimental and psychological here. If you like it, awesome.

On with the show!

* * *

wouldn't you be damaged too.

suppose you hadn't been born for you, no, you were a means to an end, not so much an end for yourself. not let's have a baby, more, let's have the baby so that we can have this. i'm a clause in a syllogism for which the 'therefore' is not me, i am not a result so much as a cause. wouldn't you be damaged too, your parents not really so much caring, well maybe mom cared but she wasn't 'mom' because you were taken away by dad who wasn't 'dad', just a father. never having anyone in your childhood, wouldn't you be sad. i would be. i was. i still am.

i am an ongoing experiment even when not under lab scrutiny, because everyone is still watching me. i know they are, i mean, of course they are, they always did. i thought that when i got out on my own i would stop feeling the constant burn of a gaze on my shoulders, that the sensation of being seen i would be freed from, but it hasn't happened yet that i feel free from others, no, i worry still what they think – well, no, well, yes. i don't know. it hurts to think about it. i'm paranoid, i know that much. i get into bouts where i'm not but i know i am. i just need to get, you know, get rid of everything around me, and i'm, i'm okay, i'm okay, okay. just. leave me be, let me be.

wouldn't you be damaged too – if the one you call mother you know is still not 'mom'. she's not the one who bore me, she's another thing looking over my shoulder even when she doesn't need to use me. i get into these bouts, you know, i get into these states where i'm not in my body anymore, like i've been shunted out of my own self, and that's comfortable so i let her. that's okay. i don't feel so much affronted when she forces me to leave myself behind, just comforted, happy that i don't have to be the one totally in control.

i've always thought myself controlling but then i get out in the world and i realize, i realize there've always been others in control, and never myself. oh i don't know, it's lab conditions i hearken back to at times like these, you know – always controlled, pressure, temperature, air quality, vitamins and minerals. as an experiment everything has to be just so, so that a certain result can be had or – or not had, sometimes they want to avoid things or remove them, too. so even though i think i'm controlling, it's really, really it's just that i like things to be controlled, i like things just so.

she makes them that way. sometimes i get weak and can't control things myself. that's when it's best for her to do it, she knows, she knows how. she does it right. i can smile and relax when she takes up the torch for me, even if it's just for a little while. and i'm forgetting more and more what she does when she's in me, because i can't really sense anything while she's there, no, not at all, i'm all numb, and it's comforting, you know. before i would fight a little because i didn't know what to do, or because the feeling was unfamiliar. but now it's easy, it gets better. this mask that is hers and mine is easy to slip on, like a shirt or a hat – it's easy.

well. it's easy but not always fulfilling – it's exactly like drugs. take you away and slap you back down somewhere to feel like shit as a result. i love mother, i do, i really do, but the confusion is too much. i get disoriented. my head spins, and – and i don't know, i have waves. i have waves of this and that, maybe chemical imbalances. i wish i knew. i wish i'd paid more attention to my biology tutoring but the thing is, is i didn't think it'd matter so i –

chemical imbalances – i don't know though. alternating bouts of violence, self-hatred, depression, overzealous joy, mania, depression. i am a very angry depressive and i take things out and i don't mean to, i try, i've _always_ tried to keep it cool and organized, i'm military after all or supposed to be, well not really. i don't know. i tried and tried but only now am i really falling apart, only now am i noticing that these bouts are like rockslides, one after the other. there's a moment of peace in between but they're getting shorter and more frequent, the periods. high-frequency, sometimes hours between switches.

chemical imbalances. she gets in and does her thing, and leaves, and it calms me down, but i think maybe – maybe – maybe she's just another period, just another rockslide like any other, or anyway that's what she feels like. her presence doesn't so much make things better as make things feel good for a while, while really aggravating the circumstance.

like a narcotic or something – and i'm really lonely because she's like that, she doesn't need to talk to me much anymore, she just comes in and goes, and that's fine, because it makes sense, given where things are going. she's a habit i really don't see the need to kick not because i could kick it any time but because i don't know, she just, she's where she belongs here, and i don't know, i've always desperately wanted to be the nurturing type.

yeah. heh. no kids for me, one side effect is, i'm sterile of course, that's what happens when you breed stuff, it gets sterile. you try to get something out of something infertile, crimes against nature, hahaha, i don't know, maybe no kids for me, but maybe that's just another side effect, another thing that led to me wanting to take care of things and people, i don't know. i don't think chaos is the way to go at any rate. i think it needs to be taken care of, and this whole world is just so shitty, it's just getting into a vicious self-destructive cycle, and it would be so beautiful if only it could spin its way out.

i'm to be that spin. me and she. together i suppose, though really in the end she can have all the credit, i don't mind anyway, i'm falling apart. there won't be much more left of me soon, but i don't mind. i know it's what's going to happen to me anyway, i've reconciled that. i've known since i was young, this big, maybe, that i was going to fall apart, because i can't take care of myself and everyone else mostly only cares that i am a physical being. i had a therapist once to help me with my bouts, to help me sleep or get my self-confidence back and help with my suicidal tendencies, he was really awesome, but that won't help now.

i am resigned to my fate. that's okay. but think about it. i mean, whatever, you think i'm depressed, that i need help, but there's no helping me now, i'm like a radioisotope. just decaying and the decay gets worse as time goes on. except my half-lives are weeks or days long and they get shorter and shorter. i'm not human anymore and i'm not really me, but it'll be over soon, and that comforts me. soon i won't be myself anymore, she'll take over all the work, and that will be relief. i'll be consumed in her and reside in myself apart from myself, which, it seems, is where i was meant to be from the very beginning.

so i was constructed as a vessel. so what. that's okay with me. wouldn't have been a few years ago. but now i'm complacent to it, knowing that what's coming is inevitable. my complacency will kill me – i'm not stupid. but at least i won't be lonely anymore.

i am resigned to my fate. you think i'm crazy. but you would be damaged too.


End file.
